


heatsinks

by Latia



Series: I, Egbot [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: AU, F/M, Gen, Illustrated, in which John is a robot and Rose is SO DONE with the cold, really self-indulgent AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-11
Updated: 2013-02-11
Packaged: 2017-11-28 22:27:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/679557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Latia/pseuds/Latia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Gods of Irony may have a sick sense of humor (a broken space heater combined with near freezing weather--ha. Hilarious.), but they aren't without remorse. In any case, something delivered EB-413 to your doorstep, and he's willing to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	heatsinks

**Author's Note:**

> This is based off a silly AU i thought up one day after reading some cute comics about a giant robot and a girl who does maintenance on him. For more info, go to saccharinescorpion.tumblr.com/tagged/i+egbot

Throughout the course of your life, you have found that certain things always, always come in pairs. A lack of an umbrella begets rain clouds, the crime of wearing a skirt always invites strong winds, and so on.

Within five minutes of slipping through the backdoor of Strider's Mechanics and Repair ( _inquire about ventriloquism acts inside_ ), you added one more combination to that list: the coldest day of the year will inevitably fall on the day the shop's heater gives its death rattle.

Feeling your fingers go numb for the fifth time in a hour, you sigh and replace your gloves. In front of you a month-old receipt for assorted parts lays opposite a small list, your cramped handwriting not even a fourth of the way down. A task like this should have taken a half-hour, tops, but the sudden cold front that blew in this morning has left you in a constant, awkward state of slipping off your gloves, writing as much as you can before your hands go stiff, and quickly trying to thaw your half-frozen digits. As such, your productivity rate has plummeted faster than a duck on the first dawn of open season, and as such, you are really, really not looking forward to the next hour or so.

You pull your arms under your hastily cobbled barrier of insulation (a few old blankets you found stuffed in the back of storage wrapped around you like a cocoon) and simply shiver for a few moments. The notion of trying to root through the shop for a replacement for the broken part of the heater drifts through your head, but any possibility of leaving the pathetic little bit of warmth you managed to scrounge together is quickly crushed under the heavy foot of "Not On Your Life." To be perfectly honest, even if you had the part in your hands you don't think you could fix it if you tried. After two months of this internship the only things you have gained are a few hours worth of brainstorming for new stories, a small paranoia of puppets, and--

" _Hello_?"

-oh.

"H-hello," you reply to the head poked through the door, your chattering teeth spitting out one more syllable than necessary. Your visitor is letting in a draft. "Could you p-please shut that?"

" _Oh, sorry."_ The hulking figure awkwardly half-shuffles into the store, letting the door shut behind them. EB-413, otherwise known as "John", rises to his full (very full) height and looks down at you. 

You look back, raising your eyebrows. "Did you need something? Neither of the charming Strider brothers are in today, I'm sad to report."

" _You must be devastated."_

"Very." The sarcasm would normally be welcome (or at least amusing)  but coming from him it just seems a little awkward, the way a dog standing on it's hindquarters would be. "But both of them are at a small convention with Squarewave and Sawtooth in the next town, and prodigies may they be, to my knowledge neither have perfected the fine art of being in two places at once."

" _Are you sure? The older one makes me wonder."_

"I'm sure."

 

 

(...............................................................)

 

 

"...so, as you can imagine, we aren't offering any repair services today."

" _...oh."_ He seems to shuffle in his spot for a moment, as if readjusting his limbs. " _Well, either way it doesn't matter, really! I don't need any repairs today."_

You quirk a brow. "Then why did you come in?"

" _Are you alright?"  
_

 _"_ Sorry?" 

" _You're vibrating, and the last time I checked a lack of limbs was considered a problem for most people."_

You look down to see that your arms are still tucked tight in your blankets. With a slight flicker of embarrassment you realize what you must look like--a miserable quivering girl cocooned in a heap of rags. Reluctantly you retrieve your arms from their warm prison. "It's barely 8 Celsius today. Sometimes we must sacrifice dignity--and brief use of limbs--for comfort."

" _Are you saying you're cold?"_ He steps closer, just a little. " _This place doesn't have any system to regulate the temperature?"_

 _"_ Normally it would, but I'm afraid the fan belt seems to have worn out, and of course the Gods of Irony would never give me as easy a break as being able to find a mechanical part in a shop overflowing with the stuff."

The cyborg tilts his head in a surprisingly human gesture. " _'Gods of Irony?' I've never heard of that sect."_

"... _What?"_ He seems slightly indignant, as indignant as someone with only 15% of a face can be. " _What did I say?"_

You stiffle your chuckles. "It's nothing." In the end, he's still mostly robot. "But my point is, yes, I'm cold, and unless you'd be selfless enough to convert yourself into a space heater, I'm going to stay that way."

" _Is that an order?"_

You blink. "Sorry?"

" _I've been ordered by Mr. Crocker to help you and your co-workers in whatever way I can. Actually, I remember that I have at least three fan belts--."_

"Y-you don't have to do that," you sputter. The willingness he has to do whatever it takes to help you, even if it is just a trait programmed into him, is startling--and a little unnerving. "It's fine John, I don't think I could either fix it either way." Not to mention that, for reasons still confusing to you, you don't have the courage to open his chest cavity without a Strider to provide backup. "It's probably not even the same kind of fan-" 

Somewhere in the back of your head a switch flips.

"-belt." You suddenly stand, walking around the desk to be right in front of him. He startles a bit, as if the seven foot tall cyborg built for battle is afraid of the shivering ninety pound girl. "You have fanbelts, because you have fans, to keep yourself from overheating."

". _..yes, that is typically what fans are for._ "

You press your hand to the front of his chest cavity, against the glowing blue symbol right where his breastbone would be. Sure enough, it's buzzing and slightly warm, the way a computer monitor would be.

A small smile works its way to your lips.

* * *

"...is this alright?"

"Hang on..." You have to arrange the blankets in a way to cushion the sharp corners of his chest, a sort of figure 8 where both you and him are incircled.

"That should do it." Settling into his lap, you make yourself as comfortable as you can with a chair built in the shape of a person and pull your gloves off once more. It's not perfect, but it's something, and it's slightly warm. That's all that matters to you.

_"So you'll just be sitting here?"_

_"_ Yes." You lean back so your head is supported by his thick chest. Not exactly the best pillow, but at least it will do wonders for your posture. "Technically I wasn't even supposed to come in today, but I thought I might as well do something about this paperwork. As much of a genius Mr. Strider may be, he could stand to take better care of his..."

You trail off as you become aware of your handwriting becoming increasingly jittery. Your hand, your arm--no, the entire table is shuddering. It takes you a moment to register the source--the pair of legs under yours is shaking. "John? You seem...to be vibrating."

" _What?..oh!_ " It seems as much a shock to him. _"My b--my apologies. Maybe it was...colder, than I thought. Ha, ha_." Was that an attempt at a joke? In any case, the shaking slows to a stop.

"Was it..could you have some gears stuck around something?" You hope not. He deserves a much more experienced set of hands to be at the mercy of than yours.

" _No, no, it...was probably something like--_." He begins to fire off a lengthy, jargon-bloated explanation that seems to involve dust buildup and heatsinks--is this the cyborg equivalent of rambling? Idly the thought of putting him alone in a room with Dave and watching them bounce off each other wanders through your head, and you smile.

You get back to work, and he eventually realizes you aren't listening. To your delight he actually seems to grow a bit warmer--his heat must be getting trapped beneath the blankets. The room shifts to a surprisingly comfortable silence, and you actually begin to get work done. 

Slowly the "Finished" heap of papers grows, and slowly you grow drowsy. The heat combined with the dull repetitiveness of paperwork ~~combined with the fact your companion is surprisingly comfortable~~  is making your eyelids feel heavy. You take a break to stretch your arms. "How are you handling it back there, John?"

" _I'm holding up fine_."

It sounds oddly stiff, coming from him, and for some reason you don't like it. "You're certain? I'm aware that I'm extremely heavy, even an advanced model such as yourself might have difficulty."

 _"I'm holding up fine, Miss Lalonde._ "

You frown vaguely. "You don't have to call me that. Rose is fine." And it was usually fine for him. Why the sudden formality? Was it a glitch? "Are you--you're not overheating, are you? Do you need to take a break?"

" _No-_ " The reply is instant. _"Don't get up! I'm not overheating, I have...fans....heatsinks..."_ His chest rumbles with his voice (carrying information for precautions against overheating too fast for human ears), buzzing against your skin, almost feeling ticklish. It makes you feel oddly sleepy.

"Well... be sure to tell me if it's..." You yawn. "Necessary." Pulling your gloves off once more, you return to work....

( _deep in the droll of mindless paperwork your thoughts wander, frowsy and flimsy. he never did tell you why he came in, did he? you'll ask him soon, maybe .....during your next....)_

__

 

 


End file.
